


Lorelei

by AriWrote



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Anankos, Experimental Style, Garon Being an Asshole, Gen, Horror, Japanese Mermaid Mythos, Mild description of injuries, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Vague Everything, Vague setting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 12:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriWrote/pseuds/AriWrote
Summary: Father wants things he shouldn’t have.Your brother thinks one day he will be king, that he will fix the broken country Father has left him. Your brother does not know that Father would kill him before that happened.Father wants to live forever.Camilla watches as her father makes an ill-conceived bid for immortality through a fishperson.





	Lorelei

Father wants things he shouldn’t have.

Your brother thinks one day he will be king, that he will fix the broken country Father has left him. Your brother does not know that Father would kill him before that happened.

Father wants to live forever.

You know because you have heard him in whispered conversations with his advisor, that slimy man who leers at you as you pass in the hall. You hide in places where you cannot be found unless someone knows where to look. You know these walls far better than anyone gives you credit, know how to hide better than anyone expects.

You listen to those two discuss things they should not. Father speaks of the kinds of things people would be labeled mad for believing in: mystical stones, queens who bathed in blood, dark magic, and darker deals. Today he speaks with his advisor about an incident in a small port town.

There have been sightings, his advisor says, of a mysterious creature. Sightings usually occurred near the waters of the bordering nation, but as of recent, it had favored the nearby ocean. Occasionally, he says, it has gone as far as to venture into the scant rivers that dared to extend their reach into the deeper parts of this country.

“Ningyo,” your father’s advisors says, “is what the foreigners have taken to calling it. Mermaid, I’m led to believe is the closest equivalent in our language. You know me, my King; I am not often fooled by the peasantry’s attempts at fairytales, but…” His voice dips down into a hush, low enough that you can barely hear him. You wonder what kind of dark secrets must be said in a whisper between two who think they are alone.

Your father’s laughter breaks the quiet. It’s not a kind laugh, nor one where you are allowed to laugh along; it’s one meant to deride. It’s the laugh he uses when he wants you to be upset for daring to waste his time. His advisor doesn’t seem to mind. “And how does this pertain to me?”

You cannot see his face from where you hide, but you do hear a light chuckle and can imagine your father’s advisor’s face pulled into an awful grin. “There is a rumor that the flesh of this beast contains... certain properties.”

Your father makes a strangled, desperate noise. His voice turns frantic. “Do you mean-”

“What are you doing here?” Your brother whispers, his hand hovered over your forearm and a furrow in his brow that has recently made itself nigh permanent. He’s found you, somehow, in your hideaway. You turn fearful eyes to your father’s room, but they are deep in their conversation and have not heard him.

You turn back to your brother, who is frowning at you. You hate how common such an expression has become on him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you reply. It’s not a lie (you haven’t been able to sleep a full night in a long time), and you hope your brother will be fooled by the truth to not ask further.

His frown deepens, but his hands fall to his sides. “Wandering the castle halls won’t help  that.”

You look down at your feet and bite your lip.

After a long pause, your brother sighs.“I’ll walk you back to your room. It won’t be good to have you caught by one of the servants and have it get back to Father.” He offers his hand.

You take it. He leads you down paths you had not known existed, not oft-traveled and therefore safe from the eyes of those with loose tongues. It is only once you are in bed, and your brother presumably in his own, that you realize fully what this night says about your brother.

   Perhaps, you think with a nervous sort of gnawing feeling, your brother knows more than you’d ever thought.

You think about the creature—the mermaid—on and off for many days after your father’s conversation. You wonder what it could be like, if perhaps there is more that you could discover.

You find yourself in the library more often than not, wandering in search of answers that you aren’t sure exist. Nothing comes up for many days, though sometimes you find your brother flipping through books that he shoves back into place when he hears you. Checking after him is what finally leads you to your answer.

It’s not the book he was looking at, but one shelf down. It catches your eye due to its distinct binding. You open it and find brushstrokes, elegant and dark, in a language you can’t understand. You skim the book, occasionally coming across pictures which you think might be in the design of the country to the east. One catches your eye.

   It’s of a creature, beautiful and terrifying. It has a scaled tail where legs should be, hands that descend into clawed fists, a face so enchanting it takes your breath away. The scene is disrupted by a man stood over the creature, a sword dug into its tail, greedy hands pulling at the wound; there is hunger in his eyes.

   You slam the book shut and return it to its shelf.

   You say nothing in the daylight, and when night falls, you hide among the shadows of the castle and wait. 

* * *

   You have heard talks of the group your father has sent to the little port town, and so you know the creature will arrive soon. The castle is a flurry of gossip, servants unaware of what reason the king would have to send such a small group of soldiers of to such a peaceful town. Rebels, some have offered. An assassination, others have chimed in.

When the soldiers return, little but walking corpses and less in number, the gossip quiets for a moment. All eyes latch onto the long wooden crate they carry between them, covered poorly by a dirty cloth that looks like the tattered remains of a sail. There are curious stains on it that none try to think too hard about.

The gossip picks up once the procession has passed, dampened only by the wails of those who are left behind by the dead.

You stand among them, biting your tongue as they pass guesses at what could be in the box. The hopeful pray for grain to fill the mouths of the starving. The cynics claim it is gold stolen to fill the coffers of a man rich off his people’s suffering. Only you know the truth, and only you know to be fearful of what it means.

You part from the crowd, leaving them to their guesses and race after the men. You tell yourself it is only because you want to see the creature before it is slaughtered, compare it to the portraits you’d seen. You ignore the soft voice in your head mocking you for daring to dream of being a hero for this creature.

You follow them into the throne room, letting yourself be ignored as the heavy doors click behind you. You blend into the shadows, settled behind a pillar and hopefully out of sight.

The men cast the cloth to the ground as one takes a crowbar to the crate. It shatters and the treasure within is revealed.

They have managed to stuff the poor creature into a glass case far too small for it. It is nearly your brother’s height in length, and yet it has curled itself into something small and pitiful.  The water is murky with grime and blood. You can see through the filth that it is covered in long, nearly rotting wounds along its sides. There are angry red patches where scales surely should be along its tail. Its long blue hair covers its face like a shield.

“What have you done to it?” your father barks, not stirring from his throne. “It is no good to me if it is dead.”

“Your Highness,” one of the men of says, the one decorated with the crest of nobleman's house, “we lost many men capturing the beast. We could only take it down once it was too injured to move. It lives, though. That we are sure of.” The soldier kicks the container, a bit of water sloshes out from a crack where they had not sealed it properly.

Golden eyes snap open and for the briefest moment, you think its looking right at you. You hear a whisper at the back of your mind, but you can’t place it before the sound of claws scratching at glass shatters all semblance of thought.

It’s writhing in its cage, unfurled and angry. Its hair flutters around, parting just enough that its face is revealed.

She is just as beautiful as the painting, breathtaking and horrifying in equal measures. There is not a trace of softness in her features, only fury.

“I know what you intend to do,” something hisses in the back of your mind, said by a tongue not used to such a language. The expressions on the soldiers and your father’s face tell you that you are not alone in hearing the voice. “I know what you think it will give you.”

Her frantic movements have stopped. They seem more methodical. She seems to be testing the glass for something, a weakness perhaps. The soldiers do not notice it.

“How would you know of my intentions?” your father replies. He glares at the creature, though she pays him no mind.

“There is only one thing your kind ever wants from mine,” her voice returns, as sharp and painful as her claws against the glass. You wince and try to cover your ears, but the sound does not soften. “It is a fool’s errand. You will die before you can ever attain what you wish.”

“You wish to scare me off,” Garon says, something dark and dangerous creeping into the edges of his voice. “It will not work.”

“I’m pitying you,” the creature says, this time not through whatever magic she has been using, but from her own mouth. She has found a weakness in the lid, large enough to get her hand between the panes. She pushes and the lid falls to the floor and shatters. “Your legends are weak and not infallible. They do not tell you what you need to know most of all.”

The soldiers pull their sword from their scabbards and pointed them at the creature as she pushes herself up. Their faces are full of fear, but she holds her head high. For a brief moment, you meet her eyes and she smiles something vicious.

Your father’s expression has not changed, though he looks paler.

“My name is Azura, Princess of the Kingdom of Valla,” her voice is slow and melodic. You watch in awe as the soldiers’ hands begin to shake, unnatural as though they are being controlled by something far greater than them. One attempts to push through and cut her down. The sword passes above her and lodges itself into the neck of one of the other soldiers. He gasp, and it comes out wet and choking. He crumples to the ground and the other men drop their swords.

A mockery of a sweet smile settles on her face. “They do not tell you the price you will pay for daring to take what isn’t yours to take, dear King,” she says, her claws curl around the edge of her tank as she pulls herself up. You can’t look away, even though it sickens you to see the blackened and decaying edges to her wounds.  “You will never gain immortality. You will only die like the gutter rat you are.”


End file.
